Difference between revisions of "Anna Hitchen"
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Strange fruit swaying from the oak trees, the vines taut with the weight of death as a mother's cries glisten in the wind. Anger, can you hear it, sweetling? The sound of a vicious alchemy brewing forbidden knowledge to exact revenge. Dolls of hair and skin and bone given names of living people, of the soon-dead. Candles made from suspicious tallow. These things smell of evil, the stench far beyond the rotting of the flesh that they lament. | Strange fruit swaying from the oak trees, the vines taut with the weight of death as a mother's cries glisten in the wind. Anger, can you hear it, sweetling? The sound of a vicious alchemy brewing forbidden knowledge to exact revenge. Dolls of hair and skin and bone given names of living people, of the soon-dead. Candles made from suspicious tallow. These things smell of evil, the stench far beyond the rotting of the flesh that they lament. | ||
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Demons are like obedient dogs, they come when called and when evil fights evil, there is no good to drive them away again after. Devilry spreads, mixing from one pot to another until everyone's sipping from the same cup. It's when one family keeps that proverbial chalice that anomalies like the Wolcotts take form. When those demons refuse to leave the bed that was made for them. | Demons are like obedient dogs, they come when called and when evil fights evil, there is no good to drive them away again after. Devilry spreads, mixing from one pot to another until everyone's sipping from the same cup. It's when one family keeps that proverbial chalice that anomalies like the Wolcotts take form. When those demons refuse to leave the bed that was made for them. | ||